


a game we once played

by Poose, seven_hells (Poose)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coercion, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/seven_hells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: "There's a game they play - Theon has captured him and stolen him from his family and is going to keep him for his own pleasure - his own little salt wife. They play it when there's no room for them in the happy Stark family and nobody will notice them missing. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	a game we once played

Since they were small children the two unwanted wards of Winterfell had played this game.   
  
"I'll take you, Jon Snow!" Theon Greyjoy had shouted, when they were boys pretending at battle, and Ser Rodrick would stop him and explain that was not the way of the North. Prisoners were treated fairly, given justice - imprisoned or traded or executed with honor, not claimed like slaves.  
  
Theon would sulk, but he soon learned that it was easy enough to say those same things to Jon when they were not sparring in the practice yard. Innocent enough when they were both boys, perhaps, until Theon had pressed up against him and Jon had felt him, hard, and then, the next time, he was, too.   
  
The secret burned in him like shame, though it was hardly as bad as being a bastard. Even Theon, who came from a place of pirates, a family of reavers, rapists, and murders, was permitted to sit at the high table when Lord Stark feasted his bannermen.   
  
If Jon Snow was allowed in the hall at all -- he was unwelcome when the Tullys came to visit, nor the Umbers, the Boltons, or the Baratheons -- he sat almost by the door, and drank the sour watered wine of the lowest tables.   
  
Theon might catch his eye during such a feast, across the long room, and one side of his mouth would curl into a smirk. Jon's toes would curl because he knew what Theon was thinking, what Theon would say if he were seated next to Jon on a hard oak bench rather than a cushioned chair with ornate carved arms on the dais.   
  
Lord Stark's ward sat at his trueborn son's side, laughed at his jokes, shared his food, drank from the same pitcher of sweet summerwine.   
  
Jon Snow pushed himself up from the table in anger and disgust. No one stopped him as he shouldered his way through the crowd and made his way to the library. It was deserted, of course, torches burning low along the walls, but here at least he intended to be alone rather than simply feeling that way.   
  
"You'll miss the dancing." Theon's voice rang out clear from the open door.   
  
"Who would dance with a bastard?" Jon Snow said, gloomily.   
  
"Can you even dance?" Theon asked, coming to where Jon stood.   
  
Jon's breath was visible in the dark room. "Not well," he admitted.   
  
"I will teach you," Theon said.   
  
Jon shrugged. "You needn't bother."   
  
"Some other time," Theon said, stepping in close and bringing his hand to touch Jon's face.   
  
"Does it give you pleasure to be miserable all the time?"   
  
"It's not my fault that Lady Stark--"   
  
"Do not," Theon's tone was sharp, "do not speak ill of Lady Stark."   
  
"Very well," Jon said, reluctantly.   
  
"If you belonged to me," Theon told him, "I would sit you near me at every feast. I would think it would be nice to have you close at hand." He reached for Jon's groin, smiling when he found him hard beneath the cloth.   
  
His fingers worked fast as they had since boyhood, when they began this game. The first time Theon had grabbed Jon's cock through his breeches Jon gasped through the only orgasm he had ever known. Even now Theon's hands could take him apart in an instant, his soft voice and cruel words even more so.   
  
"I'd sit you next to me," he went on, unlacing Jon's breeches as he mouthed at the side of his jaw, "And I'd keep you like this, exposed. Bare and ready for me to take when I wanted."   
  
Jon whimpered as Theon drew his cock out and rubbed a thumb over the sensitive, leaking tip.   
  
"If you belonged to me, " he continued, "I'd sit you on my knee to touch whenever I felt like it. You might blush or try to hide your head in shame, but I know you'd like it, the attention, being my little pet. Or," and he scratched his nails along the ridge, setting Jon's spine aquiver, "maybe you'd be better under the table. I'd keep you down on the floor, kneeling. You look good on your knees, like you were born to it. Mouth like that--" he closed his lips on Jon Snow's in a kiss.   
  
"Theon," Jon gasped, fumbling to get at his cock, "Theon,  _please._ "   
  
"Shhhh," Theon said, drawing himself out to rest his cock alongside Jon's. "Kiss me, bastard."   
  
Both his hands sank into Theon's hair as they rutted their hips together. Theon grasped them both in his hands and pulled with long twisting tugs, murmuring soft dirty words into Jon's jaw.   
  
"I'll take you for mine own," he told him, "Fuck you when I please, make you suck my cock at table. You'd always have a place there, Jon Snow," he said.   
  
This was what he needed, it was what - no, it was _all_ he was good for, and that pathetic thought pushed him over, spilling into Theon's hand, imagining himself on his knees in front of an audience of ironborn as Theon Greyjoy claimed him for his own. 


End file.
